SUNDAY, MARCH 30, 2008
Sunday Memories: In three acts G dies in Manhattan in 1993
He’s at Cabrini on 19th Street.
The nurse who loves him the most is six feet tall and has just finished becoming a woman.
She could pick Frazier up when he was bigger and now, as he dwindles into the bed, she still swoops him up into her arms and we can all see how much he has left from how small he is in her arms.
His family comes in from Queens to visit. Four of his six brothers are wearing his suits. They are either too tall or too short, too thin or too fat for the suits. Looking at them in Frazier’s clothes is like looking at Frazier in funhouse mirrors.
When they leave, Frazier turns to Michael. “Couldn’t they have just waited until I died?,” he asks.
I turn the corner onto 14th Street to go to the wake at the funeral home and see the big straight brother who hates gay people beating the shit out of the thin delicate gay brother who in his own words is “a screaming queen”.
Somebody calls the cops.
The gay brother’s suit, formerly Frazier’s, is ripped in many places.
It’s the day of the funeral. I turn onto 14th Street to go to the church across the street from the funeral home.
Cop cars line the street. My heart sinks. It’s only 10 in the morning. More trouble already?
When I get to the steps of the church I find out it’s just Law and Order setting up for a shoot later on in the day.
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